


The Mark Of Cain

by cumberbabeswillrise



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Mark of Cain, Mark of Caine, Supernatural - Freeform, the mark of cain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 19:47:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1523375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cumberbabeswillrise/pseuds/cumberbabeswillrise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's thoughts as the Mark courses through him, and a kill he makes with it. Horrible sadness ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mark Of Cain

He knew from the second that Cain's arm interlocked with his that this would be the worst thing that had ever happened to him. Dean also knew that it would be the best. He could feel the power surging through him, from his fingertips and through his veins, straight into his heart.

His breathing hitched, and the enormity of the potentiality of sovereignty flowed through him. If this was power, then why did Cain stop with Abel? He could have killed them all; he could have ruled. What an idiot. What a fucking _idiot._

It circulated, red-hot, through his mind, body, and soul. It felt incredible. The flashes of blurring colors, blood and gore, it all excited him. Dean could only begin to fathom the things he would be able to do. There were so many possibilities coursing through his brain at that precise moment. A moment, that's all it was, but it felt like a lifetime.

Now, as he stands over the lifeless body in front of him, Dean can feel nothing but the grin spreading across his face. Laughter rips from his lips, rushing from a deep place in his chest that he hasn't felt in a long time. There is so much blood. It flows from the blade and down his hands and onto the body before him.

Everything is hazy, like a wonderful high he can't come down from. Colors burst in patches, all across his vision, in the back of his head. Happy voices laugh along with him, and he feels true joy. His chest feels light, he could dance.

But like every high, he always has to come down. It takes a bit, but when he does, he is horrified. So horrified that the blade drops from his grasp and clatters through the floor. He realizes that the laughter he had heard was actually screaming, horrified, heartbroken, blood curdling screeching.

A great hole feels as though it has been punched through his stomach, and his heart is pounding. Deep, racking sobs course through his body. A scream rips from his throat. Dean falls to his knees, and pounding tides of terror and sorrow crash against him.

The figure before him was not that of a demon, or a monster of any sorts. The headless corpse he had been so euphoric about killing was not a creature of the night, but an angel in sunlight, a baby in the cradle. The body was a child, a small whim. The only vision of hope to ever sweep across his torn and tattered soul.

Little brother Sammy laid before big brother Dean, a picture of fright painted across his tan features, hazel-green eyes forever staring up into the clouds.

 


End file.
